


No Robots Allowed

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Episode Related: The Sentinel: by Blair Sandburg, First Times, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:24:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair thinks his life is reflected in a Buffy episode.  Jim thinks Blair's wrong and needs to stop thinking so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Robots Allowed

**Author's Note:**

> No Buffy knowledge is needed to enjoy! 
> 
> This is sort of a post-TSbyBS story set 3 months after Blair becomes a cop. 
> 
> I'm not sure if this should be NC-17 or not, but since it's the closest I've ever written to that rating, I put it on there just in case :) Other warning for slightly adult language since that's not an option on the template. Also, not beta-ed but I trust my auto-edit device. Sorry for any glaring errors you find (but I really hope there aren't any!!) 
> 
> Thanks to senad for being the awesome list that it is.

## No Robots Allowed

by Nynaeve

Author's webpage: <http://nynlander.tripod.com/index.html>

Author's disclaimer: I disclaim all knowledge of possessing the boys. This message will self destruct in 5 seconds...(heh!)

* * *

* * *

Now that I have a full time job--with very irregular hours and occasional adrenaline-pumping, life threatening bonuses--I have more free time. 

This would be ironic except that I don't find it particularly funny. 

Before--before Naomi and Sid, before the press conference, before the Academy--I had one part-time job and one "research-gathering exercise" that I lived 24/7. Don't get me wrong, I still had free time, it's just that there were always so many things that I found that I just _had_ to do that it didn't seem like I had a whole lot of empty hours lying around. 

And now that's what I spend my empty hours doing--lying around. And watching TV. Ah, how the mighty have fallen. 

They could make an infomercial about me--Blair Sandburg, anthropological genius morphs into Blair Sandburg, couch potato in three easy steps. Betrayal to Academy to badge. That's right, folks, you too can be a disaster-cum-detective for twelve low, low payments of "screw over your best friend and he forgives you anyway." 

Jim forgave me anyway. God, the man should be canonized. Heh, I guess that's whom I should ask about that, God. I grin and swig some beer from my reclined position on the couch. 

Hmm, I would ask God, except that He and I haven't been on speaking terms much, lately. I kinda don't want to face him. Too much guilt. Too much pain and...and anger. 

So, instead of talking to God (or Goddess even--that's me the Jewish pagan) or working out with Jim every night, or reading, or dating, or surfing the 'net, or jacking off, or facing life in any way at all, I'm sitting here on a Tuesday night watching Buffy: The Vampire Slayer. Oh, and drinking beer and eating peanuts, the Planter's pre-shelled variety. They're fun to eat because I can toss them into the air and catch them in my mouth and if I miss they're easy to find and clean up. Jim hates this game of mine, but tonight he's not home so I get to play. I toss a nut and silently cheer myself as I catch it neatly. While Jim's away the Blair will play, I chant softly, finding a sad amusement in my little rebellion. 

I think Buffy's entertaining. A real dichotomy--bubbly, petite, innocent-looking warrior battles the ultimate evil baddies. I guess that's kind of how I hope I can fit into my new world at the PD, the one I've been living in for three months now. Don't underestimate me, guys. I talk a lot, I crack jokes, I make fun, I look harmless. I have a gun, too. Blair, the Crime Slayer, I say out loud and toss another peanut. I miss it this time; such is life. Sometimes you win, and sometimes...well, sometimes you don't. 

Tonight's Buffy looks like a yawner. The monster of the week is a female robot. She keeps looking for Warren, whoever that is. She says he's her boyfriend and she keeps repeating herself to everyone and smiling a big, brainless smile. That's all she does, look for Warren. I think even the "Scooby Gang" is bored by her. They don't sound very surprised to find out she's a robot. Hell, I think that's the only bad guy I haven't had to face yet, a robot. I would hope the robot that comes to Cascade is a little more interesting than a brunette in tight clothes who'll do anything for her man. 

I let my mind drift a little and wonder what Jim is up to. He left about seven to go work out. He didn't say when he'd be home, which usually means he doesn't know. Maybe he has a date? It wouldn't surprise me. He hasn't suggested that we do anything together in several weeks. I think he's been busy, but I'm not sure. I don't know what he does with his spare time any more. I haven't asked. 

Suddenly, I realize that I should wonder about that. Didn't I use to always know what Jim was doing? Didn't we use to talk about these things? Didn't that use to be my _job_? I realize that I'm starting to get angry now. I stopped asking Jim about his life and suddenly I don't know what he does anymore. I don't know why this whole friendship has to be _my_ responsibility. Maybe he's been going out with the same girl all these nights. Christ, maybe he has a girlfriend. There's a thought. 

Maybe I'm too boring for him now. 

I let my thoughts continue to spin into further realms of unreasonableness, shifting past that last thought with practiced ease. I wonder about this mystery woman I'm suddenly sure that Jim is seeing. Maybe she's beautiful. Shit, of course she is if Jim is into her. I bet she's tall, built, has big knockers. I grin and snicker at the ceiling, as the TV drones in the background, getting a little adolescent thrill over thinking about someone Jim would like this way. I picture the perfect pair of tits in my head and feel naughty as I place the label of "Jim's girlfriend's tits" on them. But that's not enough for me now, I force myself to imagine the whole thing. I construct this woman completely in my head, adding more details, making the perfect "Jim-girlfriend." Long red hair down to her ass, huge helpless, tortured eyes, and wide, pouting lips. Dressed to kill, of course. Something slinky, tight and low-cut that she can do amazing, gymnastic feats in anyway. Of course she has some secretive, dangerous career like international government operative, whatever the hell that is. 

Jim dumped me for a sex-bot spy. 

I chuckle hoarsely and shift my attention back to the TV, trying to distract myself again. How could Jim dump you, I chide myself. He doesn't even know that he was yours...no, that's not right. He doesn't even know that you were his to dump. Did he? 

I sigh as I try to pick the Buffy story line back up. It looks like we found the elusive Warren. Ah, the robot's creator, her boyfriend, the only thing she cares about. It looks like she tracked him to a park and now she's trying to get Warren to take her back. It seems he dumped her because she was too boring. How apropos since I came to the same conclusion about five minutes into the plot. Buffy appears distressed by Warren's attitude and I'm suddenly confused. Didn't we decide that the robot was pathetic? I pay closer attention. 

Oh, I see. The robot was only doing what she thought was right, what she thought Warren wanted, what she was programmed to do. And some of her actions came out bad, but it wasn't her fault. She was just following the guidelines of what she was created for. She was created for Warren, by Warren. Whatever she did after that was for him. All for him. 

I'm suddenly uncomfortable lying on the sofa and I sit up, swinging my feet over the edge and brushing peanuts off my sweatshirt. I set my beer on the table and brace myself with my hands on my knees. I realize that I'm sweating. What the hell is this? I squint at the TV and try to focus through suddenly blurry eyes. 

Buffy is fighting the robot now and I'm not sure whom I'm supposed to be rooting for. Warren is now out of the picture, which is a relief. The robot wasn't the bad guy after all, it was Warren. My chest is hurting and I'm breathing shallowly. Why? I wonder, why? I flinch as Buffy hits the robot in the head with a wooden swing. Ouch. And it comes to me...I'm identifying with this robot. 

I stand up and watch the TV from this new position. It looks the same from here. The robot was winning the fight but now she's starting to slow down. Fuck. She's going to lose. She wouldn't have to, but Warren let her down. He abandoned her to try and make it without him, but she can't. She can't function without his help because her batteries will eventually run down. Warren could have helped her. He could have recharged her and kept her maintained. He didn't. He doesn't want her. She is too boring. Too predictable. He thought she would be the perfect partner but when he got what he wanted he realized that isn't what he wants at all. 

This is all suddenly making sense. The clarity of my thoughts is blinding, frightening. I understand now. I really am this robot. This fucking robot. 

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. I am the robot pining after its creator. I am pining after Jim. 

Jim must be my creator, my reason for being. My only function is to be there for Jim. Do anything for Jim. Do anything to be allowed to love Jim. 

I love Jim. Shit, but I must have known that. This thought isn't surprising at all. It's been burning at the back of my mind for awhile now, since at least Alex, maybe before. I flop back down on the couch and watch the rest of the episode in a stunned stupor. 

The robot is almost dead now and Buffy has placed her on a swing at the park where they were fighting. They sit and talk. 

Buffy clearly feels sorry for the lovesick robot. She identifies with it, too, wanting to love and be loved. 

"Can you cry? Sometimes I find that it helps when I cry." 

Buffy's question hits me in the sore place in my chest. The ache intensifies exponentially. The robot says no, and now I know the difference between us. I can cry, I just don't, at least, not often. 

I only cry about once a year. It's like; I save up for it. When the build-up of angst in my life gets so high it spills over my eyelids and down my face, then I guess I'm crying. But even though I don't cry very often doesn't mean that I don't get choked up. My chest tightens, face gets hot, my throat feels like somebody stuffed a sweat sock down it. 

I cried this year already. I cried in the hospital after my whole unsuccessful swim in the fountain. I cried into my pillow at three am, lonely choking sobs that were wiped away and stifled before the nurse came by with my four am antibiotics. It's not bad if no one sees you, right? It's only real to me, my secret outlet, too precious to allow too often. 

But I guess my body doesn't remember well enough because I feel the tears building within my burning face. I grab the remote and quickly turn off the "all new WB Tuesday" before Angel comes on. The last thing I need to do is find angst about my own life in a show about a vampire that can't get laid because it will screw up his whole life, make everything go very badly, indeed. I can already anticipate my reaction to _that_ scenario, thank you very much. I struggle enough over my thoughts about Jim without adding screwing into the equation. Talk about everything ending badly...I can just imagine what would come of _that_ little talk. Violations of house rules left and right, way to go, Sandburg. 

I take long, even breaths and try to calm myself down. I need to analyze why I suddenly see myself reflected in a fictional character. If ever I needed to process, it is now. 

Am I really so much like this devoted robot? And is Jim really like the pathetic Warren? I quickly realize that Jim could never be pathetic in my eyes. When he's at his worst he is infuriating, unreasonable, violent even, but never, ever pathetic. Well, that's a relief. 

I consider the problem as rationally as I can considering that I still have to count my breaths to keep from hyperventilating. I think that my anxiety from the show was more about my fears and my own motivations rather than reality in regards to Jim. 

I already figured out that I am too much like the robot. I am devoted, this is plain to me now that I'm not hiding from the thought anymore. I do what I do because I think that's what Jim wants, what he needs. Jim said this is what he wants. He let me into his life. He let me study him. He _let_ me be his partner. He said he needed me, wanted me to be his partner. His permanent partner. He has what he wants now, and has had it for three months. 

How long before he realizes he was wrong? 

How long before he ditches me? 

How long before he secretly wishes my batteries would run down? 

How long before I'm left wandering aimlessly, without a purpose? 

How did I let myself be created, controlled, influenced so completely? Why am I only worried about what will happen when Jim comes to his senses? Why don't I care about how this happened? What if Jim has _already_ come to his senses and is only waiting for me to wear down? 

Is that what I've been doing these last few months? Slowly, inevitably wearing down? Surely couch-potato Blair wasn't in my original programming... 

I drop my head into my hands and try to keep the tears back by sheer physical pressure. 

Will anybody try to save me? Will I have someone to place me on a swing and stay with me while the lights go out? I fear not, now that Jim has his sex-bot spy girlfriend. I forget for the moment that I made her up and picture Jim standing out of the sun roof of a limo, bride on his arm, looking dashing in a tux and roaring off to a honeymoon with Miss Perfect sex-bot wife. I realize that I am a very weird person and smile grimly into my hands. I wonder where Jim would go on his honeymoon. Probably somewhere very romantic, he's really a sweep-you-off-your-feet kind of guy. I really hate Miss Perfect. Maybe I can think of some way to kill her off in a freak surfing accident. But then Jim would be sad... 

My thoughts are turning wild and morbid and I'm shaking my head at myself even as my hands over my face are starting to feel damp when I hear a key in the lock of the front door. 

My head whips up and I stare dumbly at the door as Jim swings in, workout bag in one hand mail in the other. 

I work my mouth, trying to get the moisture to travel magically from my lashes into my throat. 

"Hey, Chief." Jim stops for a moment and regards the darkened apartment before flipping on a light and giving me a strange look. 

Oh yeah, lights. I flinch as my tear-sensitive eyes try to adjust. 

"Hi, Jim," I try to say but it comes out more like "Gaah," my dry throat refusing to cooperate. I flinch again and turn my head away, looking out the windows, willing Jim to ignore me. To just continue his routine of grabbing a shower, snack and then heading up to bed. 

"Sandburg?" He says my name like a question. 

I shake my head, trying to surreptitiously wipe off my damp face, missing my long hair, which would have helped hide my face even more. I grope blindly for the remote, hoping to find it and turn the TV back on to distract us both. 

Just as I find the remote on the cushion next to me I feel Jim's big hand press hand and remote both into the couch. "Don't." 

I freeze as Jim circles around to the front of the couch and sits down, carefully prying the remote away from me with one hand while continuing to hold my hand with his other. 

We both just sit there for a moment, me counting breaths, looking away at the windows and trying not to sweat, Jim resting his right hand on top of my left one on the couch. I feel disconnected from that hand. It is completely Jim's there on the couch, hidden under his palm. 

Jim shifts after a few minutes and I take the opportunity to snatch my hand back. I fold my arms across my body, comforting myself with my compactness. Maybe I can continue by myself if I am completely self-contained. Even as I think it, I know it's a lie. I am Jim's creature now. He holds all of me flat, under the palm of his hand. I am pinned by his presence. I am a butterfly staked out in a glass case of his keeping. I have gone from being his keeper to his kept and wonder briefly at what point that happened. It doesn't matter; it is the truth. 

"Chief," he says, voice low and careful. "What's going on?" 

I realize then that it is silly to look away from him forever. He owns me, after all. My tears are his, held at bay by my will, ready to fall at his. I turn my head and look first at my lap, then up at his face. I wonder what he will think at seeing me like this. I must look strange. My face feels tight and hot. Will he pity me? Be curious? Upset that I'm sitting on his couch, teary and messed up, using up time in which he feels he has to take care of me? 

But he looks nothing but concerned, his big face gentle, eyes soft, and I am relieved that he is not angry with me. Then I realize that I am being slightly ridiculous. Jim has never been unreasonably angry with me, not when I am doing nothing but sitting on his couch. I think back to times when he has been concerned for me before and realize there are quite a few. What a high-maintenance friend I have been to him. I let out a huffing chuckle that comes out more choking than I mean it to. My eyes sting a little and I blink quickly, trying to clear them. I realize this is a mistake as I feel two tears drop several inches from my eyes down onto my cheeks. I reach up to brush at them and watch Jim's eyes follow the movements of my hand. 

Jim looks back up and his eyes are more intensely concerned, bordering on worried. "Blair," he says softly and I start a little at the use of my first name. He raises a big hand to cup the side of my head and then pulls me into a loose hug. My head ends up on his shoulder and my knees are pulled sideways into his. 

I sigh and relax into this embrace even as I semi-rationally think it is a mistake. I don't want to like it so much that I will miss it when it is over. But only a small part of my brain is really thinking these thoughts as I let Jim hold me, as he lets me be held by him. He seems to want to do this for me and I really am not about to seriously object. He pets my short curls and it feels so, so good. I turn my face more into his shoulder and try to quietly breathe his scent, fresh from his shower at the gym. I can feel the cotton of his tee shirt absorb the wetness of my eyes. 

"Talk to me," he requests quietly, and I move my head loosely from side to side, trying to convey that I can't right now. I just want to stay here and soak in this experience. I raise a hand slowly and rest it on his other shoulder, daring in my quiet desperation. He must not mind because his strong body shifts to pull me more into a hug instead of the loose head-caress it had been. "I've been worried about you," he says in a low, casual voice. 

I am so surprised that I reply, my voice rough and gravelly against his shoulder, "Me? Why?" 

"You're not acting like yourself. Since the Academy you've been...quiet. And if there's one thing you never are, it's quiet." He gives my body a little shake as if trying to tease and yet not, all at the same time. 

I sniffle and huff a little laugh, agreeing with him. "Yeah, I guess so. Thought you might like the quiet for a change." 

He stills and his arms squeeze me tighter. "Not from you." It sounds like a promise, but I'm not sure for what. 

"No?" I raise my head and blink up at him. My eyelashes feel sticky. 

"No." He whispers this and I feel his hands slide apart across my back and up to my shoulders. He cups them there, holding me still. "Tell me what's wrong. Please." And if I didn't know Jim better I would almost say he's pleading with me now. 

We are staring at each other, speaking without sound. I wonder what my eyes are telling him, what secrets they are spilling. He's telling me that he is serious. That there are no jokes between us now, no potential for future blackmail. That he is my friend. 

"I am." 

"What?" Concern enters his eyes again. 

"I'm wrong. I'm too...I'm just...just something..." I trail off, unsure now how to say what I've been thinking without sounding horrifyingly self-pitying. 

"Chief...Blair, please." I can hear the measured patience in his voice. 

I sigh and start over. "Ok, let's try an analogy. Um, have you ever really, really wanted something, like, a cold Coke on a hot day?" I gesture with my left hand, leaving my right on his shoulder and hoping he won't mind. 

He looks confused but goes along with me. "Yeaahh," he agrees slowly. 

"And maybe you have to wait for awhile, but it's still hot and you still want that Coke and finally you find a machine and you have just the right change and Thank God! You got your Coke." 

He nods, "Sure, that's nice." 

I lean forward a little, eyes still on his. "Is it? Are you sure? Maybe the Coke is too warm and all you can taste is the metallic sugar. Or maybe you finish it and it wasn't enough. Or maybe you had just thought it was what you wanted and it was sorta nice while it lasted but now you're just thirstier than ever." I will him to understand with my eyes. 

He seems to be thinking about this instead of just responding automatically and I'm relieved. I don't think I could have explained much better than that without getting all upset and emotional again. His eyes sort of flick over my face and it's like he's taking stock of me. I unconsciously straighten my shoulders and feel his hands remind me they're there, as if I could have forgotten. They press and release, kneading me a little. 

"I'm not sure," he starts to respond and his hands slip down my shoulders a little and settle on my upper arms, "but I think you're comparing one of us to a Coke." He shakes his head a little as if wryly amused at his confused roommate. "Blair, whatever you're thinking right now, I can pretty much guarantee you're wrong." 

I pull my hand back from his shoulder and lick my lips. "Um, you sound really sure about that." 

"I am." 

"Well, I'm glad one of us is." 

He grins his lop-sided grin at me and tilts his head. His hands shift further down my arms and I suppress a shiver as his palms slide over sensitive skin. I can almost feel his name being branded into me where his hands passed. "I have to admit that I was worried for awhile. But I'm not anymore." 

"What changed your mind?" 

"You. Tonight." He shakes his head again and lifts one hand up to chuck under my chin before settling it back on my lower arm. "You really know how to over-analyze something, you know that?" 

"So I've been told." I say wryly. I am no longer wallowing in misery. Instead I find myself almost eagerly awaiting what Jim has to say. He doesn't look like someone on the verge of kicking his boring roommate out and running off with a sex-bot. I have a kernel of hope for the first time in a long while. 

"I need you to listen to me, Blair. I don't want to have to do this again." He looks into my eyes for a moment and then settles back. "After you graduated from the Academy you seemed like you were pulling away. You stopped coming with me to the gym, you stopped dragging me around town during the weekends, even stopped cooking crazy things in the kitchen. Just...stopped everything. At first, I figured that you were settling into the job, and we were both hiding from the press for awhile. But when you didn't stop hiding after a few weeks I started to get worried." Jim stops for a minute and I watch in fascination as his face, normally so stoic, flashes a quick series of emotions. I hold my breath as I realize that all the time I had been busy eating myself up over him, he had been doing something similar over me. What could that mean? I breathe slowly and wait for him to tell me. "I was sure you were regretting your decision. I felt so bad for you, having your life taken away. I got over being mad a long time ago and I was worried you had gone to the academy just to make me feel better. I knew you would never leave as long as you thought I needed you and I felt guilty over not telling you that I didn't need you anymore." I suck in a noisy breath and Jim squeezes my arms again. "Because the truth is, I do need you. But I never, never want you to think you _had_ to stay just because of that." 

"Jim--" He holds up a hand and I stop obediently. 

"Sandburg, you are such a clueless little punk," he says fondly. "I was so worried that I decided to back off and let you see that you still had space to be yourself. I didn't want to crowd you and make you think that I was gonna just take you away from everything you loved just 'cause you're a cop now. I mean, I didn't want you to think that my way is the only way. You can still be a neo-hippie witch doctor punk, but just one with a badge now." 

Jim's words are teasing, but I'm following him. I nod to show him I'm getting this. I feel a light start to slowly dawn, like the sun coming up way back behind my eyes, but I can also tell he hasn't finished connecting the dots for me yet. 

"I figured out after a few weeks that you didn't resent the job. Like I told you at the hospital way back when, you are the best partner I ever had. You make a hell of a cop and I think you like it, am I right?" I nod. "So, I was still worried that the other stuff might be bugging you until I came in tonight." He sighs and his eyes turn sad. "I hate to see you like this, Blair. You're eating yourself up. I could tell that you weren't angry when I saw you crying." I flinch and look down, but he reaches up and moves my chin back up until we're looking at each other again. "You never usually have problems talking when you're really angry about something important, I know that. You think I might be regretting our partnership. Am I right again?" This time, I can't move. I wait breathlessly as Jim prepares to tell me my future. He reaches up and cups my face with his warm hands. "I will never, _never_ regret one minute of the time you've chosen to be in my company, Blair Sandburg." I can't breathe for another long, few heartbeats and then I suddenly gasp as the impact of what he's said hits me. I feel it reverberate all through my chest and echo out to my extremities. 

This is huge. Like, supernova huge. I feel a smile start to crawl over my lips. My first real smile in I don't know how long. 

Jim smiles too, when he sees mine. It's beautiful, like a mirror in a funhouse, endless reflections of relieved happiness. 

"Ok?" he asks. 

"Yeah," I breathe. I lick my lips again and this time watch in fascination as Jim's eyes follow that move closely. I would never have thought this could happen to me, the devoted robot actually being interesting to his creator after all. 

I try an experiment and bite my lower lip lightly. Jim's eyes rivet to the sight and one of his hands, still cupping my cheeks, reaches over to hover above my lips. 

"Jim?" 

He swallows and says, "Yeah?" and moves his hand back to my cheek. 

"I don't suppose..." 

"What?" I notice his eyes are still on my mouth and I am having real trouble believing this is me and that is him and we are here in this situation together. I feel so sexy. 

"Maybe you'd like to kiss me now?" I breathe shallowly and feel a tingle start in my body from the remaining echoes of his statement of devotion. 

Jim seems beyond speech but manages a, "Mm-hmm," on his way to my lips. 

I hold very still and allow my consciousness to unfold as I settle fully into my body. I pull in my awareness and am only able to focus on the sensuousness of the moment. Jim's lips are soft and his mouth is wet and his hands are smooth as they slide back from my cheeks into my hair. His fingers are strong as they knead and slip through my curls and his body, God, his body is so solid, so big. I find I am very aware of impressions of size and strength and my own body is giving me Doppler readings of the breadth, warmth, desirability of Jim. Desire, oh yes, desire. The tingling is a humming, living thing within me, giving birth to a hunger that I've never known before. 

I feel a flash a fear and pull back, hearing a loud kissing noise from Jim as we separate suddenly. Jim's head follows mine and I see him reaching with his mouth before he realizes that I need to look at him. His eyes seem a little wild but he forces them back to focus on me. He is right there in front of me, so present in body that there is no mistaking the man gazing at me with intense eyes. Jim is there. He knows I am here. Any strangeness I felt melts in the heat that pours into the space between us, just us. 

I smile again and feel my temperature rise even more at the look that earns from Jim. "Damn, but I love your smile," he gasps. I need to do something to respond to that, so I scoot around and over and then I'm straddling Jim's lap. Like magic we move to each other once more. This time hands get involved as I give into the need to feel my partner. I press my palms onto his pecs and love the rounded feel of his muscles bunching as his arms move down my back. 

He slides the sides of his hands down my spine until they settle on the curve of my lower back where it meets my ass. His fingers fan over my rounded cheeks and his thumbs caress under the edge of my shirt, pushing past the waist of my jeans, going into the sensitive dip in my lower spine. I shiver and thrust against him. 

I pull off his mouth again and push his chin up with my nose. I lick at the skin I can reach there as I gather the material of his tee shirt in my hands. I sit up and yank at his shirt and he gets the message. He pulls his shirt off and then mine. I sit on his lap, panting as I survey what is offered before me. I climb backward until I stand in the space between Jim and the coffee table and smile again as his hands follow me almost unconsciously. This is so good, so good. 

Feeling sexier than I ever have in my life, I run my fingers through my hair at my temples and then the hair on my chest, letting my fingers trail down to the button at my waist. Jim's eyes never leave my movements and I watch hungrily as his hips thrust up minutely as I graze over my nipples. 

"Jim," I whisper. 

"Blair," he answers. 

I slip the top button of my jeans open as I wrack my brain for what I wanted to ask. Oh yes, "Are we ready for this?" My hand hovers over my zipper as I take in the vision of my partner spread before me, shirt off, lightly tanned skin glowing, chest heaving, cock hard under his sweats, mouth moist, eyes glittering as they focus on my hands at my crotch. 

Jim gives his head a shake and presses his empty hands into the couch cushion on either side of his hips. His eyes take a few moments to make it back to my face, but they do. Some of the lust haze leaves them and they soften a little. "Yeah," he sighs. "It sure took us long enough, but we are, I think, finally." He looks me over from head to toe and then smiles hugely. "I _thought_ I was ready for a long, long time. My dick sure did, anyway." He laughs a little. "But I thought you would appreciate it if I waited until my heart was really, really sure. What do you think?" 

I unzip my pants and push them down along with my boxers. Standing before my partner, I let my body speak for itself, which I can tell Jim appreciates as his eyes zoom down to my groin again. I know that I need to speak for my heart, though, before my body stages another coup. "I think that I am yours, Jim, in all things, in all ways." 

"Good...good." Jim lifts his hips up and pushes down his sweats and boxer briefs together. He holds a hand out to me and says, "And I'm yours." 

I all but jump on him at this point, more eager to feel his skin against mine than I have any other sensation in my life. I straddle his lap and shift until I can wrap my legs around his waist, squeezing them between him and the couch. I rub against him like a cat and can tell he appreciates this as he moans and licks from my shoulder up my neck. His skin is so smooth and warm, my eyes roll up in my head and I surf the sensations for long, happy minutes. My legs clamp around him I begin to thrust in serious enjoyment. My dick is drawing sizzling lines up his abdomen and his is running smoothly, insanely in the crease of my hip and thigh. I feel crazy, high, ecstatic. I lean my head down and lick from his temple, over his jaw to his neck and suck there as I spiral higher and higher. "Jim," I gasp, "Jim." I shift to the other side of his neck and suck there too, pushing my teeth against his skin as I push my dick against his belly. Jim makes a short sound of pleasure and runs his nails up my back into my hair. Then he's pulling my mouth to his; sealing us together as we grab at each other in desperation. 

We're both reduced to moaning vowel sounds against each other's lips as we thrust and we thrust and we thrust. I sing my happiness against him as I hit the cliffs of pleasure in long, heart-tearing spurts. I feel my body vibrate and wonder what that's doing to him as I manage to crack my eyes open and watch as my Jim arches his back and is with me in all things, even this. 

I sag and his hands tighten, keeping me against him. After another minute, he finds the strength to shift and lie back on the couch, pulling me on top of him. I sigh and straighten my legs slowly, fighting the tired kinks that have developed. 

I close my eyes and wonder if I have the strength for one more daring act, then decide that I do as I whisper my love to him. I peer up into his face to see if I was right in this. 

His eyes flicker open and meet mine and I see the answer in them before he even replies, "I love you too," knowing I need the words. 

"Thank you," I sigh. "I believe you." 

"Did you ever seriously doubt?" he sounds amused. 

"Yes," I reply all seriousness. "I don't think you should let me watch TV anymore. I get ideas." 

"Is that right?" he's definitely amused. "Tell me your ideas, my little genius." 

"Hey, watch the cracks about size there!" I poke him and raise my head enough to examine his neck. "Besides, size apparently doesn't matter in the hickey-making department." 

He chuckles and smoothes his hands over my ass. "You didn't!" 

"Yup." I jump as he pinches me and grin against his chest. "That's what God gave us turtlenecks for." 

He sighs and pats my ass fondly. "Well," says my patient Sentinel, "tell me." 

"You're going to laugh at me," I warn. "But remember that I was really depressed earlier." 

"Before the naked bits," he cuts in. 

"Yes, before the naked bits, Jim." I roll my eyes. "OK, see, I was watching Buffy, and there...there was this robot..." 

* * *

Endendend

 


End file.
